Bite at First Sight

by Brooklyn Ann

  She murmured something unintelligible and rolled over, groaning in discomfort at her constricting gown. How he wished he could relieve her of it. Instead he headed back to the door and sprawled next to the heavy oak barrier to await the dawn. There would be no sleep for him this day.

  Three

  29 September 1823

  William glanced about furtively as he knocked on Clayton Edmondson’s town-house door. Clayton, Rafael Villar’s second-in-command, answered the door himself. The older vampire seized William by the shoulders and yanked him inside.

  “Is it true?” Clayton demanded, eyes glowing with fury.

  William nodded, fists clenched in outrage. “You do not know the half of it. She’s a goddamned countess…and Villar seems intent on treating her as such. He made me dust the main floor as if I were a common parlor maid!”

  Clayton rubbed his jaw. “That does not sound as if he is keen on killing her.”

  “Well, he can’t Change her. I overheard him telling Anthony.”

  “What?” the other vampire growled. “Then he should have killed her right away.”

  William leaned back and crossed his arms. “He claims he will wait until the Elders answer his report, but I think he is stalling for time to find an excuse to keep her. She is quite the fancy piece, after all.”

  “So he is as big a fool as his predecessor,” Clayton mused. “Well, I think it is time to embark on the plan we’d discussed. Find those who you believe would be receptive and tell them to meet at the abandoned warehouse on the wharf Thursday at midnight.”

  William arched a brow. “What of my payment?”

  Clayton sighed and strode to a cabinet, pulling out a small wooden box. The cloying odor of opium filled the room as he handed William a small cloth-wrapped parcel.

  “This is less than last time.”

  Fangs bared, Clayton’s snarl made the younger vampire cringe. “If you expect to become my second, you will have to wean yourself off this vile substance by the time I become Lord of this city.”

  * * *

  Cassandra thrashed in the bed, biting back a cry as memories haunted her dreams with such vivid clarity that it was like reliving them all over again.

  Her mother’s face, contorted in pain as she struggled to sing a lullaby…the doctor’s helpless shrug…solemn footmen carrying Mother’s shrouded corpse out of the house…

  Papa staring out the window, cold and silent as the statues in the garden…a bottle of port slipping from limp fingers to shatter on the floor…ruby droplets gleaming like blood… There had been no blood when he died a year later. He had simply clutched his chest, muttered a curse, and collapsed…quickly, with no warning. If only Cassandra had known. Perhaps she could have fixed him.

  Trembling, Cassandra’s hand is placed in the grip of the Earl of Rosslyn as the parson drones on. No! I don’t love him! I don’t want to be a countess. I want to be a doctor!

  Clammy lips pressed against hers in the darkened bedchamber. John awkwardly fumbling beneath her nightgown. Pain…only a few moments… It seemed to last forever.

  Whispers and laughter at Cassandra’s eccentricity echo behind fans at the Devonshire ball. She escapes into the garden and sees John in the arms of her former chaperone. Relief, blessed relief. With her husband occupied, there will be more time to pursue her studies.

  John gapes in shock as Cassandra encourages him to continue with his lover. When returning home from Sarah’s embrace, he often brings her a new scientific text.

  Sarah crying in Cassandra’s arms. John’s heart gave out with no warning, just as Papa’s had. But why? He was so young. Rifling through her medical books. There must be an answer. Widowhood at least gave her time to study.

  Cruel faces looking down on her at Cambridge, Oxford, and Saint Bartholomew’s. All said the same thing: “I am sorry, Lady Rosslyn, but women are not permitted to attend.” Her fists clenched in fury. She would show them. She would become the best physician in Britain on her own.

  Trudging through the cemetery, shivering in the cold, raising her shovel to plunge it into the frosty soil.

  Rafael Villar emerges from the shadows. Her heart races as he pulls her into his arms. Desire pulses between her legs. Only this man, this dark, dangerous man, had affected her in such an alarming manner. Moonlight glistens on deadly sharp fangs as they pierce her soft flesh—

  Cassandra jolted from the dream, a cry dying on her lips as her eyes snapped open. Fresh panic gripped her throat as she took in the almost completely dark bedchamber. Unfamiliar shadows and a foreign, yet compelling scent of spices overcame her senses. This was not her room. Where am I?

  Scrambling from the unfamiliar bed, she adjusted the meager oil lamp with trembling fingers. As her surroundings were further illuminated, memories of the previous night crashed down upon her. She was at Burnrath House, a prisoner of Rafael Villar…and he was a vampire.

  Choking back a gasp, she glanced at the doorway. He was gone, but he could return any moment.

  Cassandra struggled with the buttons on the back of her gown, shoulders throbbing with the effort. Managing to fasten all but the top one, she sighed and shook her hair down her back to cover it, setting the pins on the nightstand. She was far from presentable, but there was nothing to be done. Besides, why should she care? It was not as if she’d chosen to be abducted by a vampire and locked in his bedchamber without any food or so much as a change of clothing.

  A vampire… All her thoughts and questions from the previous evening returned. Never before had she encountered such a fascinating being. Rafael possessed unfathomable strength. His speed defied the laws of nature…and his bite, good God, his bite. How could something so macabre feel so pleasurable?

  She placed a hand on her neck where his mouth had been, awed at the smooth and unblemished skin. Somehow, he had healed the wound. Magic. Cassandra shook her head. Impossible. She’d never believed in magic and she wasn’t about to start. A scientific explanation must exist.

  Pacing the room, she observed the lack of windows. Cassandra froze as memories assaulted her consciousness. The Duchess of Burnrath had been responsible for the renovation, removing all windows on the upper floors, claiming to mitigate the recent window tax.

  Her breath fled as Rafe’s words to her the previous night came back. “Is that why you befriended the Duchess of Burnrath?”

  “My God,” she whispered as it all came clear.

  Gossip had circulated about the duke being a vampire after the publication of John Polidori’s story, “The Vampyre.” Cassandra had been in mourning at the time and dismissed the tidbits she’d heard as pure folderol. The talk silenced when the duke married, but the rumors seemed to have been true all along.

  The duke and duchess were vampires. That was why Rafael had thought she was a vampire hunter. Her dearest, eccentric friend, Angelica, with whom Cassandra had enjoyed dozens of literary salons, musicales, and phantasmagorias, had been an immortal, blood-drinking creature all along. Now that she thought of it, Her Grace had never once paid her a call during the day.

  Now the couple’s eccentricity made sense—they had only entertained at night. Rafael had said he’d been burned by worse than fire. Could he have been referring to the sun? She couldn’t begin to imagine such an unnatural vulnerability.

  As she awaited his return, and hopefully a meal, Cassandra pondered her dilemma. What would her servants think when she didn’t return? Granted, they were accustomed to her autonomy and late hours, but even they would take notice if she didn’t return by the morning, or the next…

  She shook her head. It was best to focus on things she could possibly control.

  She needed to learn more about Villar and his kind. Therein lay the key to her survival. Perhaps if she discovered a way to heal Rafael’s arm, he would allow her to live. Closing her eyes, she devised a tentative plan.

  Th
e sound of the key in the lock had her bolting to her feet. It was time to face her captor.

  “Good evening, my lady,” Anthony said cheerfully, carrying a cloth-wrapped object.

  Cassandra didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to see the other vampire. Then the aroma of seasoned meat and freshly baked bread emanating from the basket he carried teased her nostrils. She’d never passed an entire day without eating.

  “I’ve brought you some breakfast. Tea is brewing below stairs. However, I thought you might want this hot and fresh.” Anthony unwrapped the cloth to reveal a flaky meat pasty.

  “Thank you very much.” Salivating, she needed all her effort to take the food gracefully and not snatch it from his grasp like a wild beast. Past the capacity for manners, she took a bite of the steaming pie without further preamble. It was much better than the previous evening’s greasy stew. “Is Don Villar about?”

  Anthony shook his head. “No, my lady. He is out seeking his own sustenance.”

  “Ah yes, blood.” Cassandra wiped her mouth with the cloth. “I wonder what makes your kind require it.”

  The vampire’s eyes widened at her candor. “I’m sure I do not know, my lady.”

  “No matter.” She shrugged. “Who are these Elders to whom Villar is sending a report?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

  Anthony shivered and looked down at his boots. “They are a council of twelve of the most ancient and powerful members of our kind. They make the rules and we obey.”

  “Ah, so they have decreed that I must be imprisoned to face a potential death sentence?” Despite Anthony’s fearful reaction at the mention of such formidable vampires, Cassandra felt a measure of relief that Rafael hadn’t been directly responsible for her current circumstances.

  The vampire nodded. “Yes, and he was obligated by law to report your situation, lest he be punished. For the safety of our race, they need to be notified any time a mortal is apprised of our existence. It may be small comfort, but I believe Rafe doesn’t want to kill you.”

  A light laugh escaped her lips. “Actually, that is a substantial comfort.” Though the prospect of becoming a nocturnal blood-drinker alarmed her, it was far preferable to being slain by one. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and whispered, “Do you think he will Change me then?”

  Again the vampire looked down. “It is not really my place to say, my lady.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Truly, we shouldn’t be having this conversation. The master will not be pleased.”

  She sighed in defeat. “Very well. I shall have my meal as well as my tea in the parlor. Please inform the master that I should like to speak to him there.”

  Anthony gaped, but he was no match for her long-held authority as a countess. He seemed to know it, because a small smile of admiration crossed his lips. “Very well, Lady Rosslyn. I shall escort you there and bring your tea shortly.”

  Tamping down her trepidation, Cassandra squared her shoulders and followed the vampire down to the parlor. Her tea was delivered soon after, much weaker than she preferred, but she was grateful all the same. Hopefully it would help calm her nerves.

  “Ordering my people about already, I see.” Rafael’s richly accented voice poured over her like dark honey as he strode into the room with the grace of a panther.

  She rose from her seat quickly. “I, ah, wished to speak with you.”

  His amber eyes glittered. “I gathered as much. You may carry on.”

  Folding her hands behind her back so he couldn’t see them shaking, Cassandra began. “I have put some thought into this situation and I have come to a few conclusions.”

  “Oh, have you now?” His deceptively mild tone belied his raised brow.

  She forced herself to meet his burning gaze. “Well, first off, the Duke and Duchess of Burnrath are vampires as well, are they not?”

  He scowled and did not answer.

  Cassandra chuckled. “I shall take that as confirmation. However, that is not among my main concerns.”

  “And those would be?” he inquired, eyeing her as if she were the newly discovered species.

  She refused to let him unnerve her further. “I shall need food. It would be silly indeed if I were to starve to death before you decide to kill me properly.”

  He inclined his head, that silken black hair falling forward to frame his face. “Your logic has merit. What else?”

  “I need more clothing.” Before he could mock her, she held up a hand. “This is not an issue of vanity, only mere practicality. You cannot mean to keep me here when I only have one gown to wear.”

  Leaning against the door frame, he regarded her with what appeared to be amusement. “What makes you presume so?”

  She swallowed. “You can’t possibly be so cruel.”

  He stalked closer to her like a feral predator. “Oh, I can be cruel, Countess. I can be very cruel indeed.”

  Cassandra willed her knees to cease trembling and lifted her chin. “Well, if you can be cruel, sir, then I can be difficult, though I would prefer to not be so.”

  Rafael’s eyes narrowed and he bared a hint of fangs. “What do you mean?”

  She held her ground, fighting the instinct to step back. “I mean, I-I’ve been quite cooperative with your abducting me and facing a possible death sentence and, well…”

  “Well?” he prompted in a dangerous, velvety voice.

  She sucked in a breath. “Well, most people would be having hysterics and doing their utmost to fight you and escape. And I’ve been thinking perhaps I should do so as well. Although I daresay I would be more reasonable with a few accommodations.”

  “Fighting me would be an exercise in futility, Countess.” As if to assert his point, he reached out to grasp her jaw, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “As would trying to escape.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she held her voice firm. “Yet I am certain my attempts could be very vexing.”

  For an eternity, they stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Rafael’s scowl deepened before he released her. “What is it exactly that you want?”

  “I would like my clothes to start with. This gown was not meant for sleeping in. And I should like to bring my servants, especially my cook—”

  “No servants.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to endanger any more people?”

  “The Duke and Duchess of Burnrath had human servants,” she argued, then faltered. “At least, I’m fairly certain they were human. How else could the cook get supplies from the market during the day?”

  “The duke and duchess did not eat food.” His brows drew together. “At least not after Her Grace was Changed.”

  “Exactly. She needed to eat, and so do I.” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “And I need my clothes.”

  Rafael sighed. “Fine. We’ll fetch your cook and wardrobe tonight as long as you promise never to reveal the truth behind you being here. Your safety, as well as hers, depends on it.”

  “What of my other servants?” she ventured, gaining courage at his indulgence thus far. “This house is in vital need of upkeep.”

  He sighed again and ran a hand through that magnificent hair. “I’ll hire some of my own people to take care of that. You must also inform your friends and family that you are to be my guest here. We don’t want to put any more humans in danger.”

  “Agreed.” She managed a prim curtsy and took a deep breath. “There is one more thing.” The thing that was most important to her.

  A low growl tore from his throat. “Damn it, señora. You are trying my patience.”

  “I-I w-would like my books and laboratory equipment,” she pressed on. “Without my studies and my work to occupy my time, I fear I shall go mad and cause quite the uproar during my stay.”

  He slammed his fist on the table next
to her, making her teacup clatter in its saucer. “You presume to threaten me?”

  “It is not a threat at all.” She forced an airy tone, refusing to balk. “It is merely the inevitable result of being confined with no intellectual stimulation. And if you are to kill me, I would appreciate the chance to make one last discovery before I die.” Lowering her head, she peered through her lashes, attempting to play the coquette. “Perhaps I could learn how to repair your arm.”

  A brittle, ugly laugh escaped him. “That would be impossible. The limb has been this way for fifteen years.”

  “Did you have a doctor look at it?” she challenged.

  “Of course not,” he growled. “It is forbidden for mortals to know of my kind, which is why you are here in the first place.”

  Cassandra ignored the taunt. “Then how can you be certain your injury cannot be treated? It has not even been properly diagnosed.”

  Rafael’s exotic features contorted into a mask of pain and rage. It took every ounce of her will not to cringe.

  “Enough!” he growled. “You may move your laboratory here. But you will not experiment on me. Also, no corpses. My sense of smell is heightened and I cannot abide the odor.”

  Biting back a protest, she nodded. It was the best she could expect for now.

  “And you will give me your solemn oath that you will not tell any mortals my secret or attempt to escape.” His adamant tone forbade argument. “It would mean not only your death, but also the demise of any whom you confide in.”

  Cassandra extended her hand, hiding a smile. “I promise.” Anthony’s theory seemed to be correct. If Villar wanted to kill her, he wouldn’t keep threatening to do so, he would merely do the deed.

  Rafael blinked in surprise before taking her hand in his warm, firm grip. She shivered at the contact.

  “Very well, it appears we have a bargain.” He shook her hand briskly. “I will summon the carriage and we will be on our way.”

  She bit back a cheer at her victory. Regaining access to her medical texts and equipment would be the first step in her quest to study the vampire and prove herself to be an invaluable asset to him.